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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223766">An Unexpected Lesson in the Art of Potions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverducks/pseuds/silverducks'>silverducks</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:27:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223766</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverducks/pseuds/silverducks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After a visit to the market, Loki finds himself in possession of a mysterious potion. One that Sif accidentally ends up drinking. </p><p>Loki must track down the antidote, before it's too late for Sif.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loki &amp; Sif (Marvel), Loki/Sif (Marvel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Mischief and Mistletoe 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>An Unexpected Lesson in the Art of Potions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadySif/gifts">TheLadySif</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Merry Christmas and Happy Mischief and Mistletoe. I hope you enjoy my offering for this year.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The market is crowded. Everywhere people jostle and shout; children rush past stalls, knocking over baskets and sending cloths flying. The air hangs heavy with the smell of sweat and meat, with mud and mead and honey and spices, with fish or flowers depending on where you’re lucky enough to stand. A sharp knock to his back nearly sends Loki sprawling in the dirt and he curses. He pulls his cloak tighter round his face, especially his nose, although it is tempting to show the swarming bodies that their Prince is among them. Maybe then they’ll stop pushing and shoving and banging into everything around. Or maybe they’ll all just gather closer, wanting a look at their Prince.</p><p>A quick glance over at the smithy shows Sif is still busy chatting, weighing the balance of a sword in her hand. Even from here, Loki can see her laughing and he sighs. Coming to market two days before Yule was not the shieldmaiden’s brightest idea, and he’d quickly told her so. She’d insisted though. Apparently there was something she must have and it would be boring going alone. Before Loki had chance to think of a worthy excuse, his mother, who had wondered into the hall behind them, had interceded. There were some herbs she needed and wouldn’t Loki be kind enough to pick them up for her? Her warm smile had melted Loki’s excuses away and so now he stood, holding the scrap of paper covered in his mother’s hand. Even writing quickly, the script was elegant.</p><p>Another man knocks against his side and the paper nearly flies from his hand. Shoving it back into his robes, he peers above the crowd to scan the stalls. The apothecary his mother usually frequented was on the other side of town, past the bustling crowd and the heaving market stalls. It would take him all afternoon just to wrestle through the throng to get there. And Sif didn’t look like she was finishing at the smithy any time soon. No doubt she would finish the moment he was gone and he’d be faced with her wrath when he returned.</p><p>Quickly stepping back to avoid yet another commoner bashing into him, a stall just a few stands away catches his eye. The herbs balanced precariously on the shelves look promising enough, and hopefully his mother won’t notice any difference. With another quick glance at Sif, who was now examining what appeared to be a set of knives, he heads towards the stall.</p><p>It still takes several minutes to fight through the swarm of people and Loki’s face is taut with irritation when he reaches it. Banging the scrap of paper loudly on the table brings the seller over, but her face quickly mirrors his scowl.</p><p>“I need these herbs, have you got them?” His voice is gruff, thick with impatience from his sufferance at the market and the seller’s eyes narrow further.</p><p>She wears a simple, dark woollen cloak, her hair in the usual braids of the commoners and her face is etched with time and weariness. Yet there is something in her black eyes that puts Loki ill at ease. Something far too wise and knowing for a common market seller. Maybe he should just brave the crowd and visit the usual apothecary after all.</p><p>Loki is almost about to move on, his hand reaching for the list when she grabs for it first, snatching it up eagerly. She reads through the list without saying a word or dropping her glare. Then she glances at him through the shadows of his hood and he tries not to shudder. “I have all, my Prince, and much more besides.”</p><p>Loki’s eyes widen in surprise. At first he thinks she recognises his face, even buried deep in shadows, but as she continues to watch him, he’s not so sure. He reaches out, subtly and slowly with his magic and feels an answering waver in the air around him. She smiles, but it is full of sharp, crooked teeth and even more troubling than her scowl.</p><p>“There is nothing more I need,” Loki replies tersely. He is anxious to be away from this stall, from this woman now, although he pushes the foreboding away. He is a Prince of this realm and his magic is more than enough to outmatch any commoner, even that of this witch. He remains cautious though, leaving his magic thrumming faintly around him, ready and waiting.</p><p>This time she laughs and Loki cannot suppress a shiver. It is bitter and cold, but most of all mocking and its Loki’s face that now twists again into a scowl.</p><p>“Are you so sure of that, my prince?”</p><p>He is done with her games and he begins to walk away, but the seller calls after him, clearly eager for gold more than sport. “My herbs are the finest you will see in all the nine realms, my Prince, and at the fairest of prices.”</p><p>Loki doubts that, but he sighs and turns back towards her. The smile is all sweet and humble now, but the teeth and the scorn still remain.</p><p>“Then tarry no longer and show me your wears.”</p><p>The smile turns smug as she turns away, fetching a few bottles off the shelves. When she reaches under the stall to retrieve some more, Loki lets his eyes examine the stall. A few interesting labels catch his eye and he makes a mental list of potions to check when he returns to the palace. No doubt she will move on after Yule and Loki thinks he can forbear a little more discomfort for some of her more valuable and rare ingredients.</p><p>The bottles are opened before him, but Loki is suddenly cautious to examine them. She smirks at him, clearly pleased at his discomfort and Loki quickly snatches a bottle. Slowly and cautiously, Loki sniffs gingerly at the first. Willowbark. It smells just as fine as any he’s tested before, and his mother is very picky over her herbs. The next, rosemary, is so strong his head immediately feels clear, the burgeoning headache pushing away. The rest prove equally authentic and he feels no ill effects from anything untoward.</p><p>He nods, “They’ll do,” and the woman quickly starts filling his basket. “And the price?”</p><p>This time the women’s smile is all sharp teeth and mischief, an expression Loki knows well. “Just the chance to tell my Prince’s fortune, if I may be so bold?”</p><p>“You may not, I pay only in gold.” Loki tries not to grit his teeth at the gall of the woman. He is not a fool like his brother. He understands well the power of knowing the future, even snatches and scraps from a reading of the palm, and especially that of a Prince.</p><p>The women looks disappointed, her smile wavering slightly, but not particularly surprised. “Twenty gold pieces.”    </p><p>Loki’s eyes widen, “You said your prices were fair.”</p><p>“As fair as their quality allows, my Prince.” She smiles again, and Loki realises she’s hoping he’ll relent and let her read his fortune after all. Instead, he quickly scatters the gold on the table, eager to be away.</p><p>Just as he reaches for the basket though, a voice suddenly calls from behind him. “Loki! There you are.”</p><p>He would know her voice anywhere, for long has it haunted his dreams, but he quickly turns around anyway. Sif is standing behind him. There is a small package now in her basket, but nothing large enough to contain the sword she was admiring. Only the outline of her usual glaive is visible beneath her cloak.</p><p>“I’ve just finished acquiring the herbs.” As he turns back towards the stall, reaching again for the basket, he catches the eyes of the seller. They’re sharp and eager, cat like, and Loki is sure there are hints of malice reflecting there. Smugness too, as if she has somehow bested him at whatever this game was after all. His eyes narrow and her smirk turns cruel.</p><p>Quickly turning away, he takes Sif’s arm and leads her a little too quickly back through the jostling crowd, away from the stall and the memory of the woman’s mocking eyes.</p><p>“Come back anytime, my Prince,” She calls after him, her voice sickly sweet and shrill, somehow resonating over the cacophony of the crowd. Loki does his best to ignore it. To ignore the few enquiring faces of the commoners who thought they heard the word prince. “I am here until the last night of Yule.”</p><p>Deciding it is not even worth the bottle of dragon’s tears he’d spotted underneath the table, he quickly steers Sif away.</p><p>Eager though he is to return to the palace, as they walk past the smithy, Loki suddenly stops. “Oh, I think I forgot one of the herbs.”</p><p>Before Sif can answer, he is lost to the crowd, pushing his way towards the blacksmith.</p><p>“The lady that was here, admiring a sword, do you still have it?”</p><p>The blacksmith nods, pulling the correct sword out from the collection on the table beside him. He hands it to Loki; clearly there are not many ladies admiring swords at market today. The sword is beautiful, perfectly balanced and adorned with engravings of holly and ivy, of stags and trees and runes Loki does not recognise. Yet the blade remains so sharp it glistens in the golden sunlight of the dying afternoon.</p><p>“Keep it aside,” Loki commands and the blacksmith nods, clearly realising he is not talking to any ordinary commoner. “I will come to retrieve it tomorrow.”</p><p>It is only when Loki finds Sif again and they work their way free from the market crowd, that Loki realises he never asked for the price.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>His mother is beyond delighted at the collection of herbs Loki brings her. She sniffs each with a smile on her face and questions aplenty of where they were from. If she notices Loki’s apprehension when he tells her, she makes no comment.</p><p>“I must stock up whilst she is still here, these herbs are the finest I have seen for many a year.”</p><p>Loki tries not to shudder at the thought of having to visit that witch again. That final cruel, mocking look in her eyes had haunted Loki’s afternoon. Even Sif’s chatter on the walk home had failed to dispel it. He quickly starts compiling excuses in his mind, ready for when she will ask him to collect more herbs.</p><p>Walking away, Loki pauses as he hears his mother’s voice call after him. “Oh, Loki. Did you buy something for yourself?”</p><p>Loki turns towards her with a questioning look, seeing a small glass vial in her hands. She is examining it curiously, and when her eyes turn towards his, there is a hint of suspicion within. The vial is filled with an iridescent viscous liquid that shimmers in the light, flickering and changing colour the more one looks upon it. For a moment, Loki thinks he sees the exact same colour of Sif’s eyes.</p><p>The words of denial are on his tongue, but he quickly holds it as the image of that witch’s final, cruel smirk replays in his mind. She must have slipped the vial in the basket when he was speaking to Sif. Instead he nods, returning to his mother’s side to retrieve the bottle and stuffs it into his pocket. He ignores his mother’s raised eyebrows and is thankful she remains quiet as he leaves her study. Her eyes are burning as fiercely into him as the bottle is in his pocket.</p><p>Luckily the princes’ sitting room is empty when he enters. The embers of a dying, but warm fire flicker in the grate and he drops down into the plush velvet cushions of the chair. For many minutes Loki just twists and turns the vial over in his fingers, watching the way the iridescent light flickers around, catching the red embers of the fire as it changes colour.</p><p>Whatever the vial contains will not be good. The seller would not have granted him any favours after his rebuff. She must know that Loki would realise this and so it could not be a simple poison. She would not expect him to be foolish enough to drink it. But what could it be? Turning it over again in his fingers, he runs through the potions he knows in his mind. The way the liquid catches the light is unique, and Loki is almost tempted to ask his mother. Whatever was inside, his mother clearly had her suspicions. Yet she had allowed Loki to take it, so clearly it could not be dangerous. The idea of explaining to his mother why the seller would want to trick Loki put him off though. She would reproach him for being rude and arrogant, and Loki would have to admit she was right.</p><p>Loki stills the vial in his hands and slowly, cautiously pulls the stopper out. There is no sudden noise or calamity, but even more slowly and carefully, he brings it near his face. As the scent of the potion reaches him, Loki’s thoughts are suddenly no longer his own. He thinks of Sif, resplendent in the midnight blue dress embroidered to match the stars that she’d worn to the first of the Yuletide feasts. He thinks of the way her lips pull up at the corners of her mouth, creating little dimples as she smiles. The way her eyes sparkle in delight. He remembers the sweet, floral smell of her hair as they’d walked home that day, somehow untainted from the market. He remembers the way she looked as she’d bested him in the training ground last week, the sunlight shrouding her in gold as she had stood over him, sword in hand and pointed at his heart.</p><p>“Loki?” A voice as smooth as silk and as melodic as a lullaby flitters through Loki’s mind and for a moment, he really does think he is now dreaming. Or perhaps in Valhalla, because the vision before him could only be a Valkyrie, welcoming him to its great halls.  A Valkyrie calling his name. He blinks, trying to focus on what the vision had said, for surely it must be important.</p><p>“Loki, are you alright?”</p><p>The voice is louder this time and he blinks again, now focusing on the vision as it coalesces and forms a figure in the shape of Sif standing in the doorway. It is Sif! Jumping slightly in surprise, the vial falls from Loki’s hand and suddenly his head clears. He watches as the vial drops to the table, the iridescent liquid spilling out and catching in the glass of half drunk wine that was left there from last night. He watches as every last drop sinks into the redness of the wine and the empty vial then clatters against the wood. He grabs is quickly, stuffing it under the cushions as he turns towards Sif. Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to have noticed, but her face is etched into concern.</p><p>“Are you alright?”</p><p>A love potion! There is no doubt in Loki’s mind that was what the vial contained. He blinks a few times more, trying to push away the visions that had clouded his thoughts mere moments ago. A love potion! A trick as sure as ever there was one. He balks at the thought the old witch had noticed when he’d turned towards Sif by the stall. Or perhaps she had only assumed he wished for love, as most people did. Wished enough to use a potion to win their heart’s desire. But the witch had misjudged Loki, for he knew well that a love potion was as deadly as double edged sword. It brought you your heart’s desire, but at a high cost. If the giver was lucky, they would only suffer the misery of a distorted, fractured reality, watching their beloved only bewitched to return their affection. If they were not, slowly the bewitching of a heart caused insanity, or death, as the wearer wasted away with love and the giver with madness at the sight and falsity of it all. Perhaps she hoped Loki would realise his error and seek her out for an antidote. The cost would only be, Loki knew, to have his fortune told. Now though, it was gone, all the crones’ plans laid to waste.</p><p>He notices movement beside him and turns to see Sif still watching him, settling down on the cushions with eyes wide and warm with concern. Loki suddenly realises he hasn’t answered her question. “I’m fine.”</p><p>Sif’s expression does not change, other than for eyes to narrow and jaw to set, and so Loki gives her a small smile. “Just a headache coming on, must be all the noise from the market.”</p><p>Her eyes now flicker with guilt, but then realising that all is otherwise well, she takes Loki’s arm and stands. He is pulled with her, her movements too quick and strong for him to prevent. “Then fresh air will do you good.” She flashes him a playful smile and starts to drag him towards the door. “Thor wants to show us something in the woods.”</p><p>As she leads him away, her toe catches on the table leg and draws her eye to its surface. It alights on the glass of half drunk wine resting innocently upon it.</p><p>For one, long agonising moment Loki is helpless. Helpless as the world seems to shift into slow motion, yet he cannot react quickly enough. Sif’s hand wraps around the glass and brings it to her lips. Loki tries to speak, but words fail him. He tries to reach towards her, to knock the glass from her hands, but he is too late. He can only watch as the tainted wine slips down her throat and tints her lips red.</p><p>For a moment, Loki just stares in horror at the shieldmaiden, his heart racing. He watches as she pauses a moment, blinks several times and fixes him with an odd look in her eyes. Then, she puts down the glass, draws in a sharp breathe, straightens and turns back towards him.</p><p>Every love potion works differently, but most follow the same rule; the drinker falls in love with the giver of the potion. Loki doubted the magic would stumble over the technicality that Loki didn’t actually give her the potion. So he stares at her, eyes wide with shock, waiting to see what will happen next.</p><p>Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She doesn’t fall down on her knees and proclaim her undying love, nor does she start reciting poetry and comparing his eyes to the stars. She doesn’t knock him to the ground in a hurry to kiss him or beg for him to marry her. Instead, she just rolls her eyes at Loki’s gaping look and shrugs. “I can’t see good wine go to waste. I was wondering what had happened to my glass last night. I thought Fandral had swiped it.”</p><p>As Loki continues to stare at her, she grabs his arm again and pulls him from the room.</p><p>Loki’s thoughts are spinning; jumping and swirling together so fast he can’t make sense of any. He lets Sif pull him along, not noticing the servant girl who is about to slip into the common room to clean and he walks straight into her. They are both sent sprawling across the corridor. Standing quickly, he looks down at the girl to see her already in a curtsey so deep her nose almost reaches the floor.</p><p>“I am sorry, your Highness. I am truly sorry.”</p><p>The anguish in her voice worries Loki for a moment. Suspecting she might have become hurt in the fall, he bends down so their faces are level. “Are you alright?”</p><p>The eyes that briefly meet his are alive with fear and Loki suddenly realises why. Servants are always treated well in palace, but are expected to be silent and unseen. He takes her hand and helps her stand, the girl doing as he bids, but keeping her eyes pinned to the floor.</p><p>“It was my fault and I must now beg an apology from you.”</p><p>The girl looks up quickly, eyes wide. She must be new to the palace, for he doesn’t recognise her. Perhaps a century or so younger than he. She quickly nods, before scuttling away into the sitting room.</p><p>Watching from afar and seeing the commotion resolved, Sif grabs his arm again and pulls him along, Loki’s thoughts once more turning over the puzzle of the potion.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It is deep in the woods that they find Thor’s surprise. Even before they reach it, music and laughter drift through the trees and the glowing, flashing flames of a campfire sparkle around them. The band of travellers are already feasting and dancing around the blaze, no doubt visiting from a faraway realm to celebrate Yule in the Realm Eternal. Before Loki has chance to pull Thor back and protest, not at all comfortable with this unknown, motley crowd deep in the woods, a pretty lady dances out of the main circle and weaves towards them. She takes Thor’s willing hand and leads him into the dance. Whether these travellers know who they are welcoming, Loki does not know, but he is unnerved standing watch. They should be at the palace, celebrating the Yule feasts there as expected of their rank. He turns to Sif, but she is already laughing as a young man gently kisses her hand. She nods at his question and he begins to lead her away. Loki tries not to watch, but Sif glances back as she reaches the main circle and he catches her eye. There is that odd look again there, a strange mix of what appears to be fear and hope. A heartbeat later she turns away, laughing as the man takes her hands and swirls them around to the music. Loki shakes his head; it must have been a trick of the firelight.</p><p>Another pretty girl escapes the tight circle of revellers and comes towards them. She looks over at Loki, but he quickly steps back, into the shadows. His thoughts are still reeling too much to join in the merriment. The girl shrugs and shifts her walk towards Fandral, who eagerly takes her hand and lets her lead him away. Volstagg has already found his way to the table brimming with food, where the succulent smell of roasting boar emanates, leaving Hogun the only one still remaining beyond the clearing. His face is as grim as ever and his fingers tap against the top of his mace. At least one of them will keep an eye out for trouble tonight.</p><p>Loki’s thoughts are in too much of a disarray to pay the attention he should, dazedly accepting a tankard of what looks like ale that is pushed into his hands by an unfamiliar face. There is no doubt in his mind it was a love potion, but why is Sif not succumbing to its spell? Even with Loki’s strong magic, he was unable to resist the pull from a single, small sniff of the potion. Sif had drunk the entire contents down fast. The effects for her should be insurmountable. Unless she is good at hiding it, perhaps, or the thought of showing any love for him too intolerable. Loki winces at that thought. It could simply be the method of application.</p><p>As the revels go on around him, his mind rushes through the memories of his potion lessons. His mother had been careful to teach not only the methods of potion making, but also the art of the magic involved, the complexities of the ingredients and, above all the dangers involved. The scent of a potion was merely a shadow of its true power, a reminder of its goal. But to drink of a potion is to become bewitched by its power, to fall completely under its spell. A spell which only an antidote can break.</p><p>Perhaps the wine had mollified its effects, or this potion’s art was in its subtlety, working slowly on the heart and mind, weaving its spell around them. Maybe now, as Sif laced around the campfire, switching partners and laughing, her cheeks flush with colour, she was starting to feel its effects. Maybe now she was starting to fall in love with him.</p><p>For a moment, his eyes catch hers across the clearing and he draws in a sharp breath. She is beautiful, even more so than ever. Her hair shines like gold in the firelight and has swung loose from its braid. The shadows and firelight dance across her cheeks and her eyes are bright, happy and they hold his in wonder. Across the distance, Loki can see her lips move, but what they express he knows not. Instead, he quickly swallows and turns away, casting his gaze into the shadows of the forest, where Hogun still stands watch. That odd look in her eye… He recognises it now for what it is; the love potion now taking effect. Loki can feel her eyes watching him, burning into his skin hotter than even the depths of the campfire. He moves away, deeper into the shadows of the trees, into the silence of the forest. The effects are still quite small, maybe they will go away on their own. He will have to watch her, ensure she is safe, and ensure she does not notice his watch.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The travellers are as enthusiastic at celebrating as the courtiers at the palace feasts and long into the starlight they dance and sing and drink. The wine flows just as fast and the food enough to state even Volstagg’s appetite. Loki looks into yet another tankard of ale, or is it mead. He cannot quite focus. It is strong, whatever it is and he has lost count of the number that have been passed his way. The campfire still burns brightly and the music just as wild as he watches the flames flicker from his log on the outskirts of the clearing. It is better than watching Sif, for whenever his eyes are drawn to her, she catches his and smiles. Or nods. Or looks at him with that odd look in her eye. It is disquieting. He is used to watching her from afar, used to her ignorance. He cannot get used to this new Sif, who seems as unnervingly aware of him now, as he has ever been of her. The strength of the love potion is growing, or perhaps it’s the drink. Loki cannot tell, but he is not sure it matters. Something must be done, as much for the shieldmaiden’s sake as his own. Her attention is distracting and while Sif’s affection can be explained away, he knows his cannot. His fingers tighten round the tankard and he fears what he might be tempted to do.</p><p>With a bitter, slightly inebriated laugh, Loki suspects this was that witch’s aim after all. For him to suffer not from the knowledge that Sif’s devotions are not real, but that his own are and he must quash them down deep into his heart. Staring deeply into the dregs of his tankard to try and achieve this, he fails to notice in time when a figure comes beside him. The log is not that long and her arm brushes against his. He quickly pulls it away.</p><p>“You’ve been missing all the fun, Loki.” Sif’s voice is full of laughter and merriment and it is a struggle to not look at her, to shift his gaze and keep it upon the fire.</p><p>He doesn’t answer, and whilst this is not unusual, he can feel Sif stiffen beside him. He knows he is being rude and can only imagine its effects under the spell of the potion. Yet he cannot think of what to say.</p><p>There is silence then, between them. Silence long and heavy, even with the music sweeping through the trees.</p><p>“Come, let’s dance.” Sif stands quickly and, before he can gather his wits, she takes his arm and pulls him up too. “You normally enjoy a dance.”</p><p>That is true enough. Dancing he can do well, and he usually enjoys showing off to the courtiers, sweeping the pretty girls across the floor and taking their attention away from Thor for a moment. It is usually Sif who avoids a dance, unless she has finished enough glasses of wine or Fandral threatens her to prove her bravery and skill.</p><p>“I do not know the steps!” It is a poor excuse and Loki is not surprised when Sif rolls her eyes at him. He is surprised though, when she takes his arm again and leads him to the centre.  He tries to resist the pull, but he has drunk from too many tankards and Sif is not only strong, but determined. He finds himself standing in the tight circle, Sif’s hands suddenly catching both of his as the music swells in a new tune. She suddenly spins him about and then pulls him around the circle. The steps are simple enough and Sif has clearly learned fast this night. He focuses on watching her movements, and the steps of the others, and not on the way her hands feel clutched tightly in his own. On the sweet perfume of her hair or the flush in her cheeks.</p><p>With the alcohol in his blood and the music in his ears, it is not long before Loki begins to lose himself to the rhythm. He spins and swirls and laughs and takes Sif along with him. Or she takes him along with her. They move around the circle, stepping apart and switching partners. Whenever they come back together, their hands seem to clasp more tightly, their laughter fiercer and their eyes ever bright. They spin and spin and spin as the music speeds, reaching its crescendo. When it stops, they cannot. Still spinning together round and round, they somehow manage to escape the circle of dances and wind their way back into the shadow of the trees.</p><p>They crash into each other, their limbs so dizzy they can barely stand. Sif’s hands are resting on his waist, her chin just touching his shoulder and over the beat of the music, he can hear her heart beating even more wildly. His own breathe is heavy, his head spinning still and he looks up to try and clear it. And finds himself looking directly in Sif’s eyes. They are wide and bright and send his head spinning even more. Her face is suddenly so close he can feel her breath catch as it ghosts across his lips. She moves closer, just a fraction, and her gaze flickers towards his lips.</p><p>His hands resting on her hips tighten; his heartbeat drums maddeningly in his chest and he tilts his own head ever so slightly forward.</p><p>And then Loki steps back, so suddenly Sif trips forward, only managing to catch her balance. He immediately misses her warmth and fists clench at his sides. It is wrong, he cannot. Must not. Not when she is under the influence of a love potion. Not even when her eyes reach his and the hurt and rejection is so clear he cannot pretend to not see or care.</p><p>For a moment she just watches him, her face flickering with too many emotions for his drink addled mind to follow. Then she turns, her back straight and her stride sure, as she walks back to the campfire.</p><p>Moving deeper within the trees, Loki allows himself to watch her for a few moments. Then he, too, turns away and walks through the forest back towards the palace. The night air is cool, but it does little to calm his still racing heart and his spinning thoughts.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A sharp knock awakens Loki the next morning. The sunlight is already streaming in around the edges of the emerald velvet curtains and Loki has to quickly cover his eyes. The sharp knock sounds again. It must be past noon judging by the angle of the sun. Yet not enough sleep to work off whatever had filled those tankards and his head protests as he pushes himself up. The third knock is more determined, the noise like an axe to splintered wood to his foggy head. Loki suddenly realises why it woke him. It is coming from his bedroom door, not his outer chambers. Ignoring the thudding in his head and the protest from his limbs, he reaches for his robes and shuffles towards the door. Carefully and warily, he opens it.</p><p>The face of a servant girl is before him and Loki quickly ties his robe tighter. She must have come here to clean his chambers, but usually they wait until they are sure he is gone. It was then that he recognises her. It was the same girl he had knocked over yesterday. The new servant. He would have to speak to her superior about this; he could not have servants coming right up to his bedroom door while he slept. For a moment he wonders why his wards haven’t triggered anything, but then he remembers last night. Remembers as he’d been too tired to do more than change his clothes and collapse into bed. Remembers the dances around the fire, the visit to the market, the cackle of the witch. And Sif, about to kiss him. With a groan he covers his face, his thoughts already protesting doing anything much this morning. But he must find a way to fix this.</p><p>“My Prince.” The voice of the servant girl draws his attention back to the presence with a sigh.</p><p>“What do you want?” He’s not entirely sure why she still stands there, curtsying and looking at the floor. Maybe she is waiting for him to allow her in, but he doesn’t really care to have his bedroom cleaned right now. Instead he has every intention of crawling back deep within the thick furs on his bed and nursing his thundering headache.</p><p>That was until she looks up towards him and he sees her eyes. No. Oh no. It couldn’t be! But there was no mistaking the way the servant looks at him, eyes gazing adoringly into his own, her lips twisting into a blissful smile.</p><p>“My prince,” She says again and Loki only now hears the reverence in her voice, her breathless sigh as she says his name. Oh no, please no!</p><p>“I am so sorry to disturb you, but I could not wait a moment longer to see you.” She steps towards him and Loki quickly steps back, but that only causes her to come forwards again, into his bedroom. She looks around with eyes full of wonder and wearing that almost mockingly blissful smile. Then her gaze rests on him again and she walks towards him, her hips swaying suggestively. Stepping back quickly, Loki finds his movements suddenly blocked by the solid oak of his bedframe. No, it couldn’t be! But it must. There was no other explanation for the sudden change in the girl’s behaviour. With a flash of horror, he remembers how he’d hidden the vial in the cushions. The girl must have found it when she was cleaning and accidentally touched some of the liquid. He’d assumed it was empty, but it clearly didn’t take much more than a drop for this particular concoction. Either the magic still believed Loki the giver, or she simply remembered his face from her fall. It mattered little, the damage was done and it was of his own making yet again. </p><p>“Wait!” Loki’s voice rises in panic as the girl almost reaches him. Mercifully she does, but still she watches him with that glazed expression. He takes a deep breath. “Yesterday, in the sitting room, did you find a vial?”</p><p>She blinks a few times, then pouts, clearly not the topic she wished to discuss. Instead she steps towards him, closing the last space between them and Loki only just manages to duck out of her reaching arms. He spins around her, so he was now near the door. The girl spins around too, as if this a lovers dance and faces him again. It would have been almost comical, and he could well imagine Thor and Warriors Three laughing heartedly if they knew of this. It was exactly what Loki would expect from a love potion. A lovesick puppet, controlled by the spell with no other thought than of the giver of the potion.</p><p>“Well, did you?”</p><p>With another pout, the girl reaches into her skirts and pulls out the simple glass vial. It looks harmless enough now, without that iridescent potion swirling in its depths. “I found it. Got a few drops on my fingers. Tasted nice it did.” She smiles sweetly and begins walking towards him again. This time, at least, Loki is able to move towards the door and lead the girl out of his bedroom.</p><p>She seems to realise what’s happened, where she now is, and she crosses her arms in annoyance. “I only wish to please my Prince, your highness.” Her voice grows lower, her eyelashes fluttering as her gaze sweeps over him in his robes. “Do you not wish for me to please you, your Highness.”</p><p>“No!” His voice is too harsh and she looks at him as if he’s just kicked a puppy. He supposes he might as well have done. He must think. And he couldn’t think whilst trying to avoid the servant wanting to seduce him. “Give me the vial.” He holds out his hands and the girl doesn’t need asking twice. Taking it as encouragement she sashays towards him, eyes roving lower over his body, only stopping when she is a hairsbreadth from him. Loki does his best to hide his flinch, and not move away, not until the vial is safely in his palm. Then he steps backwards so quickly he nearly trips over his own feet.</p><p>A fire is already crackling in the hearth in the outer chamber and Loki throws the vial towards it. It hits the stone of the fireplace with a smash, before falling into the flames in pieces. The glass sputters and cracks, overcome by the heat of the flames. For a moment, there is a sudden billowing of thick red smoke, coalescing into the shape of a heart, before it was quickly cracked in two and swept up the chimney. Only the flicker of orange and red flames now remain.</p><p>Holding his breath, Loki turns towards the servant girl, but her eyes are still looking at him in adoration. He sighs. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. No. He already knows there’s only one way to fix this and he’s loathed to go through with it. The servant girl starts walking towards him again, reminding Loki of the urgency of this predicament.</p><p>“Do you wish to serve me?” He asks, trying to keep his voice light and friendly.</p><p>Her smile broadens “Of course, my Prince.”</p><p>“Then I need you to do as I say. Can you do that?”</p><p>The girl nods.</p><p>“I need you to return to your own rooms and tell your mistress you are feeling unwell.”</p><p>This time, the girl frowns, arms crossing again, “But I don’t want to leave you! And Martha will think I am avoiding work!”</p><p>Martha. Good, he had one name. He didn’t dare ask the girl hers, not now. She didn’t need any more encouragement. “You tell her that Prince Loki sent you as you became ill whilst cleaning his chambers. If Martha does not believe you, then you must tell her to send a guard to find me and I will agree all.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“If you really want to serve your Prince, you must do this for me. Do you understand?”</p><p>She nods, but doesn’t move straight away, instead fixing him a seductive smile beneath hooded eyelashes. Loki motions towards the door with a glare and she pouts, but at least this time she obeys. She flashes him another salacious look as she leaves his chambers and a small wave as she continues down the corridor. Loki lets out a long breath and is about to retreat back into his rooms when he suddenly sees her. Sif. She’s walking down the corridor towards his chambers, but her pace is slow and he realises she’s watching the servant girl as she walks away. Her gaze then quickly turns towards Loki and her eyes widen. Loki whispers a curse, knowing exactly what she thinks she sees. The surprise flickers into hurt, an almost mirror of last nights. </p><p>“Sif.” It’s little more than a whisper, but he’s sure she hears it all the same. Her jaw sets and her gaze shifts back to the corridor. As she strides past, her pace now determined and sure, she doesn’t even glance in his direction.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The witch is waiting for him at her stall. The market is somehow more crowded today and Loki knocks into many a commoner as he wrestles his way through. She sees him from several booths away and her crooked smile only grows as he approaches. There is no surprise on her face, only a smug gloating. It is only the memory of Sif’s hurt expression that keeps him moving forwards.</p><p>“I need these herbs.” Irritation laces his voice, but Loki cares little. The whole walk here has seen his head spinning; from last night merriment and the events that have unfolded today. Loki cannot understand why the potion has affected the servant girl so much more severely than Sif. The servant had consumed barely a drop, and Sif almost the entire bottle. Perhaps Sif’s magical heritage helped protect her from the charm... Yet she herself is woefully unskilled in magic and his spells have worked on her before. Perhaps it is because she already knows him, that even the strength of the potion was dimmed by the sheer improbability she could love him. It was a discouraging thought.</p><p>The heaving market had only intensified his frustration and the witch’s grin sets his teeth on edge. A new list is slammed against the wood, this one a mix of his mother’s graceful hand and his own hurried scrawl. Her eyes widen as she looks down towards the end, but says nothing. She is too busy preening over her success.</p><p>“And is this all you wish, my Prince?” Her smile is as sharp as a blade.</p><p>“You know what else I seek, for it was you who played the trick.”</p><p>“A trick, my Prince? By the nines, no!” She feigns innocence and a humble smile. “Though I do recall, there was this one vial I cannot find. I think I mislaid it yesterday. Perhaps you might have found it?”</p><p> “In my mother’s basket no less! I fear for your business if you are truly so careless with your wears.”</p><p>“And I you, if you are so with yours.”</p><p>Loki’s eyes narrow. He is tired of her riddles. Already he wants to walk away, to leave this wretched witch behind and rest his pounding head. He thinks of Sif, of the servant girl who he hopes continues to remain in her room. He takes a deep breathe. “You know the antidote I need, name your price.”</p><p>“My price is your fortune, which you already know, my Prince.”</p><p>Loki sighs, but he is not surprised. “A simple palm reading, that is all I shall allow. And only a minute, not a moment more.”</p><p>“That is unworthy of the ingredients alone, let alone the time it takes to prepare!” The seller’s eyes are suddenly aghast, but Loki shakes his head and fixes her a scowl.</p><p>“Then take more care!” It is the seller, now, who shakes her head, but Loki is no fool. It is time for him to play his cards. “You know who I am. I could return with my father’s guards and arrest you for treason. For trying to poison the Royal family. All your concoctions and herbs and the antidote I seek can be sequestered and you left to rot in our dungeon.”</p><p>For a moment, it is Loki who now gloats in the sudden shock on the witch’s face. She looks away, across her stall and he can see the calculations running through her head.</p><p>“A minute shall do, as you are buying more.” With a grumble she turns away, collecting the herbs on the list and the rare ingredients Loki seeks. He tests each as they are placed before him, and is disappointed to find not a single fault. She pauses a moment by a drawer, before removing a small vial. The glass is the colour of a dying fire and inside the viscous liquid is as black as obsidian. “This shall be enough to undo the damage you have wrought.”</p><p>“I need enough for two.”</p><p>“Two?” The crone’s eyes widen in surprise. “I think I have only enough for one.”</p><p> “Then you best make haste and prepare some more! It is for two I need!</p><p>“You have been more careless than I thought!” She watches him a moment and Loki can hear the disdain in her voice. The words to explain are on his tongue, that the potions were not given by intent. He quickly swallows them down. He is a Prince and, despite her gift with potions, a mere witch trading at market. His eyes narrow, but now hers just brighten in return.</p><p>“There may be more, but it will cost you another minute of your time, my prince.”</p><p>Biting back a curse, Loki nods, for he has little choice and she appears to be calling his bluff.</p><p>Her smile now is all sharp teeth and wicked intent. She holds out her hand and Loki looks at it warily. It is thin and scarred, the skin pulling tight over bones and Loki shudders. Still, he is suspicious of how quickly she agreed and before he reaches forward, a flash of green magic shimmers in the air. A timer appears, one enchanted to last exactly two minutes. It is now Loki’s turn to smirk at the witch’s scowl, but it soon turns into a grimace as she takes his hand. It is cold and Loki can feel tainted magic upon it, old and powerful, and dangerous. She flashes him a toothless grin and the timer suddenly flips over.</p><p>The seller’s eyes close and her fingers ghost over Loki’s palm. He shudders and watches the emerald sand run down through the timer. The magic that seeps into his skin makes it crawl and he grits his teeth. Expressions flit across the woman’s face, shock, horror, a sneer. Whether it is practiced dramatics, he does not ask and the woman speaks not a word.</p><p>The two minutes seem to take hours, but the moment the last grain of sand falls down, Loki pulls his hand away and steps back. The witch’s eyes open in surprise, before narrowing at Loki. Still, she says nothing as she rifles through her drawer and then two red vials are placed in the basket beside the other jars. “And fifty gold pieces for the herbs.”</p><p>Gold is dropped quickly on the table, Loki not giving her the satisfaction of another argument. Still, he is curious. “In my future, what did you see?”</p><p>Her gloating cackle fills the air and Loki suppresses a shiver. There is mischief and malice within the laughter, and power. Power over him. And something else, a foreboding. As if she saw something terrible in his future, something that will cost him greatly and she revels in it. “The price is a minute more.”</p><p>“Then I shall discover my fate as time allows.”</p><p>Her sharp grin falters a moment, but then she shrugs and hands him the basket. “You have paid me well today, my Prince, so I will tell you this. Your past and future are not as you thought. Keep your family and lover close; they may be all that will bring you back to sanity.”</p><p>There is finality, a thread of fear in her voice now, as if she has seen terrible, frightening things. Loki wants to ask her more, but he shakes his head. Like a love potion, a fortune telling often comes with a great cost. Knowing your future can fix your path forever.</p><p>“Take heed, my Prince, your current path ties you to Ragnarok.”</p><p>He nods at the witch, for now her smile seems almost genuine, with a glimmer of concern. Still, there is much puzzling him and he craves at least some answers. Whilst the woman appears in a more favourable mood, he takes his chance. “The love potion, should the amount or method matter?”</p><p>The witch just shrugs. “It is as any potion, the more you drink, the greater the potency. Whether you force it down or sweeten with mead, the charm remains the same.”</p><p>As Loki thought, then why were the effects so different? “And if one could fight it, or not be as bewitched?”</p><p>“Love is a complicated matter, my Prince, who can say how it may affect a heart. But the potion itself will not fail. Unless…” The old crone’s eyes glitter and the corner of her lip twists upwards.</p><p>“Unless what?”</p><p>She smiles, once again all crooked teeth as she looks at the gold on her table. Loki has had enough. He quickly grabs the basket and turns away, eager to never see that witchs’ face again.</p><p>Her voice rings out after him though, once more shrill and sweet above the crowd, the mocking within is clear. “Unless the bearer is already in love!”</p><p>For the rest of the day, Loki cannot forget the cackle that follows him.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After a quick visit to his mother’s chambers to bring the herbs, Loki heads straight to the kitchens. The name he was given proves fortunate, for the moment he mentions Martha to a passing servant boy, his back stiffens and his eyes widen. Without a word the boy leads Loki through the labyrinth of the servant’s quarters; through the kitchens and laundry room and storage rooms and corridors that run beneath the main palace. There was a time Loki knew these paths well, when he would play chase with Sif and Thor, or when they would sneak inside to find more cake or ale. Now, Loki gives up trying to remember the path and simply follows. The boy stops him by a large oak door and, with a quick bow, scurries away before Loki has chance to knock.</p><p>“Who is it?” An impertinent voice comes through the door and Loki bristles. He sneaked a few sniffs of the rosemary and willow bark as he’d walked home, but whilst his head is not pounding quite as fiercely, his patience is still at an end.</p><p>“Someone who must speak to you at once.”</p><p>“Can it not wait?”</p><p>“No, it cannot.”</p><p>The sigh can be heard even through the thick wood and, as it slowly opens, Loki draws up to his full height. The woman below him is short and round, thick dark hair tied fiercely into a braid and her face is etched in a scowl so deep it wrinkles her beyond her years. The face of the anxious servant girl yesterday comes to Loki’s mind and his own scowl deepens. He must remember to have words with the one in charge of this Martha.</p><p>The glare in the woman’s eyes freezes as she looks up and recognises him. For a moment she is silent, panic flashing through her features, before she falls down into a low curtsey. “My apologies, your highness.” She looks up again, as if expecting him to allow her to stand, but Loki does not. She quickly casts her eyes down again to the floor. “Whatever may I do to help; I am at your service.”</p><p>“There was a girl; she was cleaning my chambers this morning.”</p><p>Looking up quickly, panic flashes across the woman’s face again.</p><p>Loki steps back and considers her, folding his arms. It is as he suspected; the poor servant no doubt reprimanded for being ill and needing rest. Still, the woman doesn’t seem to know exactly what the illness consists of and Loki intends for it to stay that way. He waves his hand begrudgingly and the woman quickly stands up. “Sophinia, yes. She is in her room resting as your message had her bid.”</p><p>“Then I command to be taken to her, so I can ensure she is recovering.”</p><p>The woman’s eyes flit about, her fingers bunch in her skirts. “She is recovering well, your Highness. You do not need to occupy any more of your precious time…”</p><p>“Take me to her,” Loki interrupts.</p><p>Martha frowns, seems about to deter him, until she sees the set of his jaw. “This way, your Highness.”</p><p>The servant’s room is not far away, but it is down a long, dark corridor, littered with cobwebs and smelling of damp. Another thing to add to his list. The woman bangs loudly on the girl’s door, the hinges rattle as the doorframe shakes. Loki takes a step back, behind the woman. There is shuffling inside and then murky light fills the doorway. Sophinia, which Loki assumes is her name, looks at the woman before her and her features suddenly contort into panic. A moment later she sees Loki behind, but before she can give anything away, he quickly shakes his head and raises his fingers to his lips. It would seem that fear of Martha is strong enough to keep the potion in check, for Sophinia keeps silence and morose.</p><p>“As you can see, your Highness, she is now quite well.” Martha turns towards him and seems to be about to dismiss them both, but Loki shakes his head.</p><p>“I wish to speak to her myself. You may go.”</p><p>The woman frowns, but steps back to allow Loki to enter, and he has to resist the urge to cover his nose. The girl’s room is disgusting; small and dank and dark and he suspects she is not the only one. Once he is inside, he quickly shuts the door and ignores the shock on Martha’s face. With another finger to his lips to silence the girl, he waits until he can hear the woman’s heavy footsteps fading way. He will have to be quick, for he doubts she has gone far and it will not do to be long in a servant’s chamber. With a flick of his wrists, an emerald cloud spreads around the walls of the room, dampening any sound, in case Martha takes it upon herself to eavesdrop. The girl gasps in surprise and Loki quickly turns towards her. She is watching the green cloud as it swirls around with reverence. Then, she notices his gaze on her and he is almost knocked over as she rushes towards him. Quickly ducking out of her way to avoid what he assumes is a hug, he spins around again to face her. She’s about to rush forwards once more when he quickly raises his hands. “Stop!” She does, but her gaze still looks at him adoringly. “I only came here to speak with you. Now seat yourself and listen.”</p><p>The girl looks crestfallen for a moment, but mercifully she does as he asks. He glances around her quarters, before he lets out a long breathe. “The vial you found, it contained a potion. One that has caused this effect.” The girl nods, but remains silent, that reverent smile once more upon her lips. He doubts she is taking in a word. “I need you to hold out your hand.”</p><p>All the way home from market, Loki had been puzzling over the crone’s words. The method of application shouldn’t matter, but something had caused the profound difference between the shieldmaiden’s and the servant’s reaction, and he was taking no more chances. The antidote must be administered in exactly the same way.</p><p>Sophinia is only too eager to hold out her hands, her eyes looking up at him through thick eyelashes. She sighs reverently as Loki takes her hand and Loki grimaces. He quickly takes the red glass vial from his pocket and allows a tiny drop to fall on her fingers. “I need you to taste this for me.”</p><p>Confused eyes meet his, but she does not argue and brings her fingers to her mouth slowly, lasciviously. Loki looks away, staring hard at the wall. He knows the moment the antidote breaks the spell, for a horrified gasp fills the room and suddenly the girl is on the floor, her nose against the cold stone. “Your Highness, I am sorry. So truly sorry. I know not what came over me and I beg your forgiveness.”</p><p>With a long suffering sigh, Loki kneels next to her, almost a mirror of yesterday. Only the face that briefly looks up at him through eyes shining with tears is even more fearful. He helps her stand, “It is again I who would seek your forgiveness. This is entirely my mistake and I am truly sorry.”</p><p>The girl sniffs, but continues to keep her gaze on the floor. There is rug buried beneath the grime there, stained and threadbare and it is the only possession Loki can see.</p><p>“I should not have behaved as I did, please forgive me, you Highness.”</p><p>“I already do.”</p><p>At those words, the girl’s face brightens slightly and she looks up again. “You won’t tell Martha?”</p><p>Loki snorts and it startles the girl. “No, I won’t tell anyone, and I must ask you to do the same.”</p><p>Her nod is so vigorous Loki fears she will give herself injury. “Of course, your Highness. I am truly sorry.”</p><p>“Yes, yes. As am I.” Loki glances at the girl again, her eyes still on the stained rug on the cold stone floor. He moves towards the door. The girl looks up briefly as he leaves, but says no more and Loki closes the door with a sigh. He is not surprised to see a flash of movement around the corner. As he moves towards it, Martha comes around the corner, pretending she had not just been spying on them. Still, she heard what he wished through his magic.</p><p>“The girl, Sophinia, I fear she is still not well enough to continue her duties.” He holds up his hand as the woman tries to interrupt, mouth open wide. “She needs several more days rest and then a permanent reduction in chores. Do you understand?” The woman looks about to protest, but Loki glares down at her and she nods, open mouthed. He trusts she will not risk disobeying him and sweeps around and walks briskly away from the dark, dingy corridor. He will ensure the condition for these servants are quickly improved. And perhaps Sophinia deserves a promotion, in his mother’s quarters perhaps. Away from Martha and away from his own. He grimaces at the thought of her distressed, apologetic face if he sees her again, especially when she blames herself, when it is all a mess of his own making.</p><p>Still, as he weaves his way back through the corridors, finding he remembers this labyrinth after all, he feels a great sense of relief. The antidote worked and there is only one more thing still to fix. He pauses a moment as he reaches the main palace, the obsidian liquid in its ember red bottles a tonne weight in his pocket. He should find her now, explain everything and ask for her forgiveness. Yet he remains still, his fingers subconsciously reaching for his neck. She will be in the training grounds now, her thoughts full of battle and blood. He would rather not spill any of his own.</p><p>No, it will be better tonight, when he can easily slip it into her wine, just like the original potion. Then, any murderous thoughts can be calmed with more wine and the merriment of the feast. If he is lucky, she will not even notice the change and all will be forgotten. Besides, Loki tries to console himself; he shall need to keep an eye on her, in case she suffers ill effects. He can do so easily from afar at tonight’s Yuletide feast.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Slipping the antidote into Sif’s wine is easy, too easy. He has been plotting and analysing and fearing all afternoon what could go wrong. Yet now he watches the viscous black liquid spill into her glass whilst she is turned away. His sweaty palm quickly moves from her glass and puts the vial safely in his pocket. She turns back, her face awash with laughter from Fandral’s joke and reaches for it. And Loki holds his breathe. </p><p>When Loki had arrived at the feast, it was with a troubling mix of trepidation and anticipation, especially when he saw Sif, looking even more resplendent tonight in a simple cream dress embroidered in gold. When he’d reached his friends and brother, Sif had smiled in greeting as she always had. She hadn’t withdrawn as he’d taken the seat beside her, or moved any closer. There was no look of adoration or disgust or suspicion in her eyes. She made the same polite conversation she always did, asking after his day in a neutral voice, describing her own and how she’d tricked Volstagg into yielding earlier. She’d smiled and then laughed as he made a joke about the state of the market today. It was as if nothing had happened, as if they hadn’t danced or laughed or almost kissed the night before. As if she hadn’t stormed past his chambers when she believed he had entertained the servant girl.</p><p>It only sent Loki’s head into another spin. Had the effects of the love potion simply worn off? Was Sif trying hard to pretend nothing had happened? Pretending to not love him when she was bewitched into pretending she was? He almost laughed at the irony. Perhaps it had never happened at all. Perhaps it had simply been the drink and not the potion last night. That Sif, who had suffered so little its effects, had simply recovered enough herself. Perhaps the servant girl would have recovered in time as well and he need never have made that loathed trip to the witch’s stall.</p><p>He had almost convinced himself that everything was fine, nothing was to be fixed, when he’d suddenly caught Sif’s eye. She had been chatting to Hogun about her fight that day, until Fandral had interjected. “I’m surprised you were still able to fight at all today, Sif. Considering how much you ended up drinking last night!”</p><p>Their friends chuckled, but Sif looked over, a fleeting glance in his direction and Loki saw it at once. That odd look in her eye. A flash of the memory of the dance they’d shared, their almost kiss. For a moment, their eyes had held and he was sure there was the slightest glimmer of a blush appearing on her cheeks. Then she’d quickly turned away, back to Fandral with a cutting smile. “And it still took less time to send you sprawling in the dirt than usual. Perhaps you had a little too much fun last night yourself.”</p><p>“Indeed, Sif, there was much fun to be made. It would have been rude to not enjoy one’s self!”</p><p>Loki was too busy cursing in his head to laugh. He knew now what she had done, what she was doing. The potion was still running through her veins, but Sif… Strong, determined, independent Sif. She would never be cowed by a simple potion and was clearly doing her upmost to fight it. If he ever, even in his darkest dreams, held any hope for her, it was quashed most painfully and bitterly in that moment. Without another thought, Loki had quickly reached for the potion in his robes, and slipped it into her wine.</p><p>And then, laughing at Fandral, she’d reached for her glass and knocked it back.</p><p>Only a few dregs remained as it returned to the table and Loki watches her closely. Watches as she blinks, several times, and shakes her head ever so slightly. She holds up the glass a moment and examines the light cutting through the glass, but then without another thought, it is discarded again to the table.</p><p>A sigh of relief washes over him, but it is short lived. For as Sif reaches for the decanter of wine to pour another, her fingers accidentally brush against his. She pulls them away instantly and he feels her stiffen beside him. Feels her gaze burning into the decanter. Even her hands are shaking as she picks it up and fills her glass close to overflowing.</p><p>“I see you are determined to repeat last night, Sif.” Fandral chortles, helping himself to a more modest glass.</p><p>“Only some of its fun, I assure you!” Her voice is calm; full of merriment, as is her smile. Yet another fleeting glance at Loki betrays her. Not only is that odd look still in her eye, but it is shadowed by hurt. Hurt and rejection, exactly as when he’d stepped away from her last night.</p><p>It cannot be. It’s impossible! The antidote couldn’t fail him. The effects had been immediate for the servant girl, and she’d barely taken a drop. Sif had downed almost the entire bottle, in her wine, exactly as she had the potion. He is too shocked to school his features and Sif’s eyes narrow, before she quickly swigs down her new glass. The Warriors Three laugh and Fandral and Volstagg copy. It is not long before Thor joins in, knocking back the glasses of wine as a drinking contest begins. That is nothing unusual, especially at one of the Yuletide feasts, but what is unusual is how often Sif’s gaze now shifts to him. The more she drinks down the more she glances over and the more her eyes betray. She leans closer towards him, as if drawn by an invisible force, her gaze holding longer, the hurt and rejection clearer. And still that darn odd look remains. It can only be the love potion, but why ever did the antidote not work?</p><p>Loki watches her carefully from the corner of his eye and tries to stifle his panic. He watches for the moment her eyes clear, for her to shake her head and realise none of her emotions are real. Waits for her fist to clench and perhaps draw her dagger. For the antidote to finally work so they can be rid of the potions dreaded spell. Nothing. As the evening draws on it only gets worse.</p><p>
  <em>Unless the bearer is already in love.</em>
</p><p>Not for the first time, the witch’s cackle echoes in his head. Could that really be the reason? The love potion only affected her slightly because she is already in love? He knows she has long held a torch for his brother, but love? Could there be another, and Loki, for all he has watched, has never truly seen? But why then would the antidote not work?</p><p>In a fit of desperation Loki pulls the second glass vial from his robes. He does not think it will be good, giving her two lots of the antidote he knows so little about, but it is all he can think to do. The viscous, obsidian potion slips again easily into her wine. They have all lost count of what glasses they are on. The servants are no fools and have long made haste to bring as much wine to their table as they can. One more glass, with the antidote, is quickly drunk among many others.</p><p>Sif’s eyes are bright as she places the glass down. Fandral has already given up and Volstagg now distracted by a large rib of pork. Thor laughs though, and drinks his own down and Sif reaches for another. And another. And still her gaze shifts towards him, still her eyes betray her hurt.</p><p>Loki’s head is spinning, as if he too were drinking all the wine, as if he were still dancing again at the campfire feast. He reaches for her glass this time, quickly pulls it from her grasp. He knocks it down and Sif’s glare is a frightful thing. “Enough.”</p><p>She stares at him, mouth open wide, eyes ablaze and for a moment he fears he has pushed her too far. She stands, abruptly, her fingers clenching into fists. Then, with a look so full of anger yet hiding so much pain Loki knows it will forever haunt him, she suddenly turns away.</p><p>Again he watches as she walks away, her gait strong and surprisingly steady considering all she has drunk. She is no fool, even under a love potion. They both know why she kept on drinking. Her wrath when this is fixed will be severe and Loki is not sure if he will even survive it. A dagger to his throat one night seems a fitting end. It will be better than this, a lovesick Sif who does everything in her power to fight it. So hateful must the thought of loving him be.</p><p>He knocks down another glass of wine, his brother watching him now, curiously. He seems about to speak, but Loki shakes his head and stares into the empty glass.</p><p>
  <em>Unless the bearer is already in love.</em>
</p><p>Somehow those words, and Sif’s face, haunt his dreams that night<em>. </em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It is again with a throbbing head that Loki awakes, but at least the splintering wood of a knock is blissfully absent. For a while anyway. After he pulls on his robes and trudges through to his sitting room, he hears it from his outer chambers. After his troubled sleep, he’s half expecting to see the servant girl once more at this door, but luckily it is only Thor. He is dressed in his ceremonial red cloak, helmet tucked beneath his arm and Mjolnir at his side. When he sees Loki, his smile fades into a frown.</p><p>“Brother, why are you not ready, we have less than an hour before midday.”</p><p>Loki answers his brother’s question with confused silence. Midday? Ready? Memory comes back all at once. Of course, today is Yuletide Day and at midday the famous hunt. The feast tonight will surely be greater still in splendour than those before. He shifts a moment, trying to still his throbbing head.</p><p>“Surely you didn’t drink that much last night, Loki?”</p><p>Probably not; or perhaps he did. After Sif left the drinks blurred together, until it was Thor, in a strange reversal of roles who’d stopped him. The wine had done little good; Sif’s face had still glowered back at him at the bottom of every empty glass.</p><p>“Well, you’d best make haste, brother. I’ll wait for you outside.”</p><p>“No.” The sudden sound of his voice made his head throb. “There’s work I must do today.”</p><p>“Work, on Yuletide Day?”</p><p>Loki nods carefully, fearful his head is about to split open. Not only can he not stomach the thought of the hunt today, but he must find out more about the potion and why its antidote failed.</p><p>With a sigh, Thor nods, “You can be the one to apologise to Sif later then.”</p><p>“Sif!” He moves his head too fast and speaks too loud. Quickly he closes his eyes and presses his palm against his forehead.</p><p>“Yes, you two always team up and beat us all. She won’t be happy at the thought of losing today.”</p><p>Oh, is that all, Loki thinks, the fear his brother meant their behaviour last night dissipating. “Then you’d better help her win, brother.”</p><p>Thor gives him a strange look and Loki wonders if his brother did indeed notice something amiss last night. Thankfully, he remains silent and, with a goodbye and a good luck from Loki, he turns away.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>After dressing as quickly as his aching head allows, Loki makes his way to the library via his mother’s rooms. She is not at all surprised to see him requesting the herbs he acquired for her yesterday. The peppermint and lavender she provides work quickly and he can finally think at last. She gives him a wary look as she asks after him.</p><p>“I’m fine mother, just too much wine.”</p><p>“Hmmm…” But she says no more and Loki remembers her misgivings over the potion. He suspects she knows what knowledge he seeks, but he remains silent and shirks away from more questions.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be at the hunt?” Loki deflects.</p><p>His mother sighs, for it is nearly noon and the Allfather and Allmother have welcomed in the Yuletide hunt for centuries. She gathers her skirts and they walk towards her door.</p><p>“I take it you are not going?” The suspicion in her voice is acute.</p><p>“There is something I must research in the library,” Loki answers, avoiding his mother’s eyes, before adding as they narrow at him, “It cannot wait.”</p><p>“Hmmm…” She ponders again, but they have come to where they must now part ways and it is with a distrustful look she leaves her son and Loki quickly makes his way to the library.</p><p>It is quieter than usual, for even the head librarian and the academics enjoy the sight and spectacle of the Yuletide hunt. It remains empty long after noon and Loki coughs and sneezes as he pulls one giant, dusty tome out after another. He has been down every dark and grimy corridor the library’s maze contains. Some the dust is so thick he leaves footprints. He searches through every shelf, every volume, every scroll he can find on potions. Yet every word speaks more or less the same. It is the giver the love potion will cause bewitchment of. No matter what other love may exist before.</p><p>
  <em>Unless the bearer is already in love.</em>
</p><p>Not only do those haunting words ring false with the tomes around him, they make no sense. The antidote should still have worked. He presses his fingers into his head as the headache begins to invade once more.</p><p>There is not a single new volume Loki can find and he can see the shifting light of the setting sun through the dusty library windows. He collects the few notes he’s been able to make and walks slowly back to his chambers.</p><p>People are returning to the palace now; he can hear the cheerful shouts and chatter as it sweeps through the corridors and Loki hurries his pace. After already avoiding the hunt, he knows he cannot risk avoiding the feast, but perhaps he can manage a few hours of rest before.</p><p>He is barely back within his sitting room when there’s a knock at the door. Assuming it is Thor to talk about the hunt, he answers it with a scowl.</p><p>A scowl that quickly widens in surprise. Sif is standing there, her face sweaty and flecked with mud. She is still in her armour and the fire in her eyes quickens his pulse. It is the fire he sees when she fights, when she wins. When she proves wrong all who doubt her. And for a moment Loki stands there agape. She is always beautiful, but there is something about her when she is wild like this, fresh from battle. It is when she truly comes alive.</p><p>He’s been staring too long. Quickly, he looks away, at the corridor behind her and to the open doorway they still stand in. He’s not sure he dares allow her in.</p><p>“Loki, I wish to speak with you.”</p><p>His eyes are drawn to hers again and he can see the resolve there, her determination. Without a word he steps back, allowing Sif into his chambers. For a moment he stares at the doorway, too fearful to turn around. Perhaps the antidote has worked overnight after all, and she is here to seek his retribution.</p><p>“I… I want to apologise.”</p><p>He blinks, expecting almost anything but that. Sif is no servant girl, who is reproached into the belief that a prince can take no blame. Sif has always sought her revenge before. Usually it is swift and brutal, as clean as a sharp axe through bone. And glorious in its ferocity.</p><p>Slowly, Loki turns, words ready to tumble from his lips, but when he sees her face, he stops. The thrill of battle is still resting there, but its power to fuel her courage is waning. She is looking now at her hands, picking at the blood and dirt that is buried there from the hunt. She must sense him watching, for she quickly looks away, hiding her hands in crossed arms. She is afraid. He can see it in the shifting of her feet still, no matter how well she now tries to veil her face.</p><p>Without a shadow of doubt, Loki knows the antidote still hasn’t worked. She is here to seek his forgiveness because she is still bewitched. Yet before he can speak, before he can even begin to think how he can fix this, Sif speaks first.</p><p>“Loki, I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting. I shouldn’t have been angry with you last night, or the night before.” The words tumble out, each one chasing the other in her hurry to speak. “It is not your fault that you…” She falters, takes a breath, “I have no right to blame you and I ask now for your forgiveness. For things to return as they once were between us.”</p><p>She’s wringing her hands again now, her gaze flickering everywhere but at him, until she finally finishes. Then she waits, as still as a statue. Loki doubts she even breaths.</p><p>If he feared for his life before, now he fears for his survival. A quick death will be too merciful for Sif when he finally discovers a way to fix this. She looks about to speak again, but Loki holds his hand up. He cannot let this continue. He cannot see her suffer any more. Even if he cannot fix it, he must at least try to make her understand.</p><p>“Sif, I…” The words choke in his throat; he takes a deep, steadying breath. “I need to tell you something and I need you to listen.”</p><p>The shieldmaiden nods, her hands fisting against her armour now.</p><p>“Do you remember the wine you drank the other day? The wine left on the table?” At her answering nod, Loki continues. “I had accidentally dropped a potion in it, one I was not aware was given to me by the woman at the apothecary store until too late. I was holding the vial when you came in and startled me and…” His voice trails off. Any excuse for his carelessness was pitiful now. “I am so sorry Sif. I was careless and didn’t stop you in time and you accidentally drank the potion. A love potion.”</p><p>Unlike the servant girl, Loki can tell Sif is paying attention. Her eyes are growing wider the more he speaks and when he finishes, she is gaping at him in surprise. There is something starting to burn in her eyes and he quickly continues before her wrath can build any more.</p><p>“At first it didn’t seem to have any effect so I thought nothing more of it, but then… Then I realised it was working so I went back to get the antidote Sif, but it didn’t work. The antidote didn’t work! And now you’re bewitched to be in love with me and I have no idea how to fix it!”</p><p>The panic that was rising as he speaks is nothing to that which consumes him now. For many moments she just stands there, staring at him in astonishment. Her eyes are burning and her fingers keep on clenching into fists. He spies the dagger in her boot.</p><p>“You… You think it is something that needs to be fixed?”</p><p>Of all her answers, that startles him the most and it is all he can do to suppress a hysteric laugh. “Sif, you are bewitched. You think you’re in love with me and I don’t know how to break the spell over you.”</p><p>She is silent again, that burning in her eyes holding his fast. She looks away, blinks, then suddenly her face becomes a mask. Her fingers still by her side. He wonders, for one delirious moment, if that is it; if the spell is finally broken by the simple truth. He holds his breath.</p><p>For a long time she stands there staring at him and Loki is too stunned to say any more. He has no idea what to do, what she will do and it’s a horrifying thought. The way she looks at him now, her gaze so cold, is the most threatening and terrible of all.</p><p>“You say you gave me an antidote, and it did not work?”</p><p>He nods, mutely and hopes this can be punishment enough; his complete discomposure and unravelling. Perhaps he is slipping into madness after all.</p><p>“I assume you do not know why it did not work?” Her voice is surprisingly curt.</p><p>Before he can answer, she reaches into her cloak and draws out a small bag; one he hadn’t noticed was slung over her shoulder beneath her cloak. "I meant to give you this at the hunt, but as you never came... Here.” She holds the parcel out to him. It is wrapped in pretty paper and ribbons of red and green. His eyes widen.</p><p>“Happy Yule, Loki.” Her voice is emotionless.</p><p>He can barely mutter his thanks as he stares at the parcel. Her cold calmness is frightening. With shaking hands he begins to unwrap it, conscious of her eyes watching his like a hawk. They do not seem to be filled with adoration any more, maybe the antidote has worked and she’s even now plotting her revenge. It is with some circumspection that Loki opens the parcel. Inside is a beautiful wooden box, carved with the same holly and ivy branches he remembers from the smithy. His heart suddenly thumps in his chest and he catches his breath. The small set of knives lies within on crushed velvet and he gasps. They are not ordinary knives, but throwing ones, made with deadly precision. The blades flash dangerously in the light. They are almost identical to the ones he was admiring in a book several weeks ago. Ones he showed Sif, when she had come to fetch him from the library. She had teased him about the knives, as they all often did, but Loki never minds as much when it is Sif. She knew well he was just as deadly with throwing knives as she was with her sword.</p><p>He cannot look at her, his hands instead freeze as he stares at the knives. It must have cost a small fortune. He remembers well how much gold he had to part with for her sword.</p><p> “Why would you give me such a gift?”</p><p>“Because I knew you would like them.” Her words are simple, but her meaning is not.</p><p>At first he thinks it a trick of the spell, until he remembers that package in her basket as they walked away from market that day. Before the dreaded potion had touched her lips.</p><p>
  <em>Unless the bearer is already in love.</em>
</p><p>But no, it couldn’t be. That would mean that Sif was… No. It was impossible.</p><p>A flash of light catches the edge of the blade and the reality hits him. Of every single thing he has thought to explain away this potion, very single thing he has learnt as he nearly tore the library apart, this is the only thing that <em>did</em> make sense. The love potion did not truly work because she was already in love, with him. And there was nothing a simple antidote could do to reverse it.</p><p>His heart is hammering now, his hands starting to shake. Slowly, ever so slowly as if afraid he’ll awaken from this dream, he turns towards her. Her face is still like stone yet her eyes are ablaze. She watches him, watches as he gently pulls a dagger free and tests the weight in his palm. Perfect.</p><p>“Loki…” She starts to say, her voice cold, but he stops her. The blade flashes again, catching her eye and for a moment he can see the stone start to crack.</p><p>“I know I owe you an apology Sif. For everything, but…” He pauses. He knows he has no right to ask, but he must know; must understand before he can truly accept any of this is even real and not some further sign of madness. “When you drank the wine, did you notice any effect?”</p><p>The stone cracks further and her eyes fall across the floor, where her feet shuffle slightly. She looks up again before she speaks. “It tasted odd, overly sweet, not like the wine I remembered from the night before, but I blamed that on being left out all day. I did have a strange memory though, it only lasted a moment. A memory of…” She stops and her eyes flit away and Loki does not press.</p><p>“Then why were you paying me so much mind at the campfire that night?”</p><p>“Because you were returning in kind.”</p><p>Her words startle Loki, and for a moment the memories of that night come back to him. He had been watching her, more than he usually allowed. Watching to see if the potion was taking affect and the more he watched, the more she did in return. Until too many tankards were drunk and the lines were blurred.</p><p>“At least I thought it was. Now I guess it was just your fear for the potion.” She takes a deep breath, “Maybe the potion gave me more confidence, I don’t know. But I had no right to be angry with you. The potion was not your fault and it is I who has made a mess of things. You cannot help that you do not feel the same and so I ask your forgiveness, and that we may never speak of this again.”</p><p>It is Loki’s turn to watch her now, turning her words over in his head. They are difficult to grasp, yet each word fits and makes such sense that Loki does not know what to say. With her apology the final piece of the puzzle slips in. She was afraid. It was fear that held her tongue, turned her eyes cold with hatred and burning hot with anger. It was fear that made her fight it, whether the potion intensified the effects or not.</p><p>He thinks of all those years he’s watched her from afar. Too afraid to say a word. He was too busy watching, too busy worrying and fighting and hiding, he never truly saw. He never noticed that Sif was watching him too. He wonders when, for how long, his affection has been returned.</p><p>Without a word he disappears into his bedroom and pulls out the parcel under his bed. It is not dressed nearly as prettily, he had meant to wrap it later, but he returns holding the parcel in his hands. Her eyes are wide as she takes it, but she doesn’t say a word.</p><p>Now it is Loki who watches Sif, his face a mask as she unwraps her gift. “Happy Yule.” He whispers, as she tosses the paper away and takes the hilt of the sword in her hand. She gives it a few experimental swings, practices a thrust, a parry, a block, but they both know it is perfect.</p><p>Finally, she allows her gaze to rest on him. “Why would you give me such a gift?”</p><p>“Because I knew you would like it.”</p><p>There is nothing he can do but echo her earlier answer and he watches as now it is for the truth to dawn on her. She looks between him and the sword in wonder, before her eyes narrow slightly. “You said it was something that needed to be fixed.” Her voice is cold, but he can hear the tremble within and it is all he can do not to gather her in his arms.</p><p>“Only when I believed you bewitched.”</p><p>A moment she just stands there, watching him rather like a cat might watch a mouse. Perhaps he has gone too far. But then she takes a step towards him, and another, until there are no more left to take.</p><p>“Sif…” His voice is a hoarse whisper now and he forgets whatever it was he was about to say. She is close, as close as she was in shadows of the trees.</p><p>“Loki.” He swears he can hear mischief in her tone. Then, she leans forwards and presses her lips against his.</p><p>And it is the greatest Yuletide present of all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. </p><p>Written for the prompt Sif falls under a love potion and Loki can't figure out why the antidote isn't working.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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